XLI.—EVIL INFLUENCE OF SKEPTICISM.CAMPBELL.Thomas Campbell was born in Scotland in 1777, and died in 1844. Some of his shorter poems are remarkable for pathos and beauty, such as “O’Connor’s Child,” “The Exile of Erin,” etc.
CAMPBELL.
Thomas Campbell was born in Scotland in 1777, and died in 1844. Some of his shorter poems are remarkable for pathos and beauty, such as “O’Connor’s Child,” “The Exile of Erin,” etc.
1. O, lives there, Heaven! beneath thy dread expanse,One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance,Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined,The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind;Who, mouldering earthward, reft[343]of every trust,In joyless union wedded to the dust,Could all his parting energy dismiss,And call this barren world sufficient bliss?2. There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien,Of cultured soul, and sapient[344]eye serene,Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay!Frail as the leaf in Autumn’s yellow bower,Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower!A friendless slave, a child without a sire,Whose mortal life, and momentary fire,Lights to the grave his chance-created form,As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm;And, when the gun’s tremendous flash is o’er,To night and silence sink for evermore!3. Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim,Lights of the world, and demigods[345]of Fame?Is this your triumph, this your proud applause,Children of Truth, and champions of her cause?For this hath Science searched, on weary wing,By shore and sea, each mute and living thing?Launched with Iberia’s[346]pilot from the steep,To world’s unknown, and isles beyond the deep?Or round the cope[347]her living chariot driven,And wheeled in triumph through the signs of heaven?O, star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there,To waft us home the message of despair?Then bind the palm, thy sage’s brow to suit,Of blasted leaf, and death distilling fruit!4. Ah me! the laureled wreath that Murder rears,Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow’s tears,Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread,As waves the night-shade[348]round the sceptic head.What is the bigot’s torch, the tyrant’s chain?I smile on death, if heavenward Hope remain!But, if the warring winds of Nature’s strifeBe all the faithless charter of my life,If chance awaked, inexorable power!This frail and feverish being of an hour,Doomed o’er the world’s precarious scene to sweep,Swift as the tempest travels on the deep,To know Delight but by her parting smile,And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vainThis troubled pulse, and visionary[349]brain!Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom!And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb!5. Truth, ever lovely, since the world began,The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,How can thy words from balmy slumber startReposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart!Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled,And that were true which Nature never told,Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered fieldNo rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed!O, let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,The doom that bars us from a better fate!But, sad as angels for the good mans sin,Weep to record, and blush to give it in!
1. O, lives there, Heaven! beneath thy dread expanse,One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance,Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined,The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind;Who, mouldering earthward, reft[343]of every trust,In joyless union wedded to the dust,Could all his parting energy dismiss,And call this barren world sufficient bliss?2. There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien,Of cultured soul, and sapient[344]eye serene,Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay!Frail as the leaf in Autumn’s yellow bower,Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower!A friendless slave, a child without a sire,Whose mortal life, and momentary fire,Lights to the grave his chance-created form,As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm;And, when the gun’s tremendous flash is o’er,To night and silence sink for evermore!3. Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim,Lights of the world, and demigods[345]of Fame?Is this your triumph, this your proud applause,Children of Truth, and champions of her cause?For this hath Science searched, on weary wing,By shore and sea, each mute and living thing?Launched with Iberia’s[346]pilot from the steep,To world’s unknown, and isles beyond the deep?Or round the cope[347]her living chariot driven,And wheeled in triumph through the signs of heaven?O, star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there,To waft us home the message of despair?Then bind the palm, thy sage’s brow to suit,Of blasted leaf, and death distilling fruit!4. Ah me! the laureled wreath that Murder rears,Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow’s tears,Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread,As waves the night-shade[348]round the sceptic head.What is the bigot’s torch, the tyrant’s chain?I smile on death, if heavenward Hope remain!But, if the warring winds of Nature’s strifeBe all the faithless charter of my life,If chance awaked, inexorable power!This frail and feverish being of an hour,Doomed o’er the world’s precarious scene to sweep,Swift as the tempest travels on the deep,To know Delight but by her parting smile,And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vainThis troubled pulse, and visionary[349]brain!Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom!And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb!5. Truth, ever lovely, since the world began,The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,How can thy words from balmy slumber startReposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart!Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled,And that were true which Nature never told,Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered fieldNo rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed!O, let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,The doom that bars us from a better fate!But, sad as angels for the good mans sin,Weep to record, and blush to give it in!
1. O, lives there, Heaven! beneath thy dread expanse,One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance,Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined,The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind;Who, mouldering earthward, reft[343]of every trust,In joyless union wedded to the dust,Could all his parting energy dismiss,And call this barren world sufficient bliss?
1. O, lives there, Heaven! beneath thy dread expanse,
One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance,
Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined,
The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind;
Who, mouldering earthward, reft[343]of every trust,
In joyless union wedded to the dust,
Could all his parting energy dismiss,
And call this barren world sufficient bliss?
2. There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien,Of cultured soul, and sapient[344]eye serene,Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay!Frail as the leaf in Autumn’s yellow bower,Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower!A friendless slave, a child without a sire,Whose mortal life, and momentary fire,Lights to the grave his chance-created form,As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm;And, when the gun’s tremendous flash is o’er,To night and silence sink for evermore!
2. There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien,
Of cultured soul, and sapient[344]eye serene,
Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,
Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay!
Frail as the leaf in Autumn’s yellow bower,
Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower!
A friendless slave, a child without a sire,
Whose mortal life, and momentary fire,
Lights to the grave his chance-created form,
As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm;
And, when the gun’s tremendous flash is o’er,
To night and silence sink for evermore!
3. Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim,Lights of the world, and demigods[345]of Fame?Is this your triumph, this your proud applause,Children of Truth, and champions of her cause?For this hath Science searched, on weary wing,By shore and sea, each mute and living thing?Launched with Iberia’s[346]pilot from the steep,To world’s unknown, and isles beyond the deep?Or round the cope[347]her living chariot driven,And wheeled in triumph through the signs of heaven?O, star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there,To waft us home the message of despair?Then bind the palm, thy sage’s brow to suit,Of blasted leaf, and death distilling fruit!
3. Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim,
Lights of the world, and demigods[345]of Fame?
Is this your triumph, this your proud applause,
Children of Truth, and champions of her cause?
For this hath Science searched, on weary wing,
By shore and sea, each mute and living thing?
Launched with Iberia’s[346]pilot from the steep,
To world’s unknown, and isles beyond the deep?
Or round the cope[347]her living chariot driven,
And wheeled in triumph through the signs of heaven?
O, star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there,
To waft us home the message of despair?
Then bind the palm, thy sage’s brow to suit,
Of blasted leaf, and death distilling fruit!
4. Ah me! the laureled wreath that Murder rears,Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow’s tears,Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread,As waves the night-shade[348]round the sceptic head.What is the bigot’s torch, the tyrant’s chain?I smile on death, if heavenward Hope remain!But, if the warring winds of Nature’s strifeBe all the faithless charter of my life,If chance awaked, inexorable power!This frail and feverish being of an hour,Doomed o’er the world’s precarious scene to sweep,Swift as the tempest travels on the deep,To know Delight but by her parting smile,And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vainThis troubled pulse, and visionary[349]brain!Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom!And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb!
4. Ah me! the laureled wreath that Murder rears,
Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow’s tears,
Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread,
As waves the night-shade[348]round the sceptic head.
What is the bigot’s torch, the tyrant’s chain?
I smile on death, if heavenward Hope remain!
But, if the warring winds of Nature’s strife
Be all the faithless charter of my life,
If chance awaked, inexorable power!
This frail and feverish being of an hour,
Doomed o’er the world’s precarious scene to sweep,
Swift as the tempest travels on the deep,
To know Delight but by her parting smile,
And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;
Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain
This troubled pulse, and visionary[349]brain!
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom!
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb!
5. Truth, ever lovely, since the world began,The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,How can thy words from balmy slumber startReposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart!Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled,And that were true which Nature never told,Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered fieldNo rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed!O, let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,The doom that bars us from a better fate!But, sad as angels for the good mans sin,Weep to record, and blush to give it in!
5. Truth, ever lovely, since the world began,
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,
How can thy words from balmy slumber start
Reposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart!
Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled,
And that were true which Nature never told,
Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field
No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed!
O, let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,
The doom that bars us from a better fate!
But, sad as angels for the good mans sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in!
[343]Reft, bereft; deprived.[344]Saˊ-pi-ent, wise.[345]Demˊ-i-god, a deified hero.[346]I-beˊ-ri-a’sPiˊ-lot, Columbus. Iberia is an ancient name of Spain.[347]Cope, the concave of the sky, an arch or vault over head.[348]Nightˊ-shade, a noxious plant.[349]Viˊ-sion-a-ry, prone to see or capable of seeing visions; imaginative.
[343]Reft, bereft; deprived.
[343]Reft, bereft; deprived.
[344]Saˊ-pi-ent, wise.
[344]Saˊ-pi-ent, wise.
[345]Demˊ-i-god, a deified hero.
[345]Demˊ-i-god, a deified hero.
[346]I-beˊ-ri-a’sPiˊ-lot, Columbus. Iberia is an ancient name of Spain.
[346]I-beˊ-ri-a’sPiˊ-lot, Columbus. Iberia is an ancient name of Spain.
[347]Cope, the concave of the sky, an arch or vault over head.
[347]Cope, the concave of the sky, an arch or vault over head.
[348]Nightˊ-shade, a noxious plant.
[348]Nightˊ-shade, a noxious plant.
[349]Viˊ-sion-a-ry, prone to see or capable of seeing visions; imaginative.
[349]Viˊ-sion-a-ry, prone to see or capable of seeing visions; imaginative.